


twin flames (holding on to your soul)

by teeceecee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Awkward Flirting, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Drama, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Language, Team as Family, Terminal Illnesses, Torture, Violence, rivals to friends, tags will be added as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teeceecee/pseuds/teeceecee
Summary: “Follow me!”He had no idea what possessed him to agree with this mullet-wearing asshole, but he blasted his engine, speeding up to Keith as they rode side by side, momentarily forgetting that he was part of the FBI and that this was against his field; he wasn’t supposed to be breaking the rules. But Keith glanced over at him, violet-grey eyes challenging and Lance made his choice.He followed Keith.





	twin flames (holding on to your soul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance engages in a high speed chase and lets his emotions get the better of him.

“Apples and bananas – Yup, someone definitely barfed in this helmet.”

His nose twisted, the vague scent of puke drifting from his mouth-piece.

“Lance, concentrate. The target could come out anytime.”

He flexed his gloved hands, balancing on the motorcycle seat. A wrecked, slow-blinking neon sign advertising a run-down strip club glowed, reflecting in his opaque visor. Hunk had mentioned that the target was currently in said club, and Lance had no idea what a Galran Vampire was doing in downtown Brooklyn, alone without a band of his members surrounding him. A flicker of movement and he blinked, Lance flexing his fingers for his gun belt, wary when he realized it was only a rat skittering into a nearby sewer.

“Agent McClain, what is your status?”

Lance cracked his neck, growing bored with this waiting game. “ _Nada_ , Pidge. I’ve been staring at the same advertisement on free blowjobs for the past ten minutes.”

Pidge made a sound of consternation. “I’ve accessed the building’s CCTV and he’s currently at table – hang on – table twenty-five. He’s talking to the club owner.”

“Can you get a visual on him?” Hunk’s serious tone sets Lance on edge for a moment, grounding him to the reality that he was a primary response for Galra sightings. It was a tremendous honor and a huge source of anxiety.

She sighed. “He’s wearing a bandanna over his face to hide his identity. Dude must’ve known that it wasn’t safe for Galras to appear at night now.”

“With all the drug laundering and prostitution, I can’t blame them,” his best friend deduced.

“Club owner, eh?” Lance cut in with a chuckle. “Could only mean he wants free goods.”

“Lance, you are disgusting,” Hunk said, sounding as disappointed as his mother when she found out her son whom she raced on a strict diet of Catholic dogmas was bisexual.

“ _Ay_ Hunk, you know I lighten the mood.”

He shifted in his uncomfortable vest, stretching. “Question: why am I here again?”

Pidge sighed, and he could imagine her tugging on her ginger bangs. “Because you accepted this and because your job is on the line from that last April Fool’s joke.”

Lance McClain scoffed, reminiscing back on the time he accessed a missing person’s report without his supervisor’s permission.

“Not my fault Allura has a stick up her—“

“Lance, he’s moving!”

“Shit,” he startled and set his bike on neutral.

Pidge’s words came into fruition when a lanky figure exited the club, a dull burgundy bandanna wrapped around his throat and mouth. He was in his late twenties, long hair pulled into a low ponytail, tacky red jacket standing out like a sore thumb.

 “Halt!” he yelled and saw the figure stiffening. Lance scrambled for his gun, switching the safety off. “This is Agent –  _hey, wait!_ ”

The man had started sprinting, and  _damn_ was he fast. Galra dude flew to his motorcycle, kick-started the engine and swerved out of the parking lot. Lance released a stream of not-so-pretty words as he resurrected the engine and slammed the gas pedal down with his heel. The Brooklyn weather whipped past his skin, stinging and excruciating. He thanked whatever Deity that still believed in him that he had his visor on. He leaned forward, body streaming past the traffic, gaze trained on the lone figure in front of him.

His vision tunneled and his concentration narrowed, plastered to the cheap material of the Galra’s jacket. It was his breakthrough, he could feel it thrumming in his veins, the victory cries exploding in his mind. He would bring him in, he would be the first FBI to catch an elusive Vampire and find a solid link into the rings. They had been on this case for the past two years, either arriving late on the scene or missing a vital piece of information that would lead them to a breakthrough. The Galra stayed true to their mythical mascot, only emerging during the night and committing atrocious crimes all the name of satisfying their blood-lust.

He swerved past a silver Porsche, nearly scratching the pristine paint with his engine. Traffic ebbed and flowed around, the rushing sounds of cars honking and people yelling fading into the background.

“Lance, you have to gain up on him! You’re approaching an intersection!”

The man turned around to look at him, and Lance balanced himself, aiming the gun at his tires. He fired, but the Vampire avoided the bullets, shots pinging off metal or landing uselessly on the tarmac. The gun was hot in his hand and it spurred him on, avoiding a truck that rushed by his right side, the dying horn disappearing into the distance.

Galra dude sped up, veering left, his body almost parallel to the ground as he zipped a sharp right. Lance followed, executing the same intricate move, releasing another shot onto his side.

“Lance-!”

“Hang on!” he growled back into the com, irritation bubbling over. He avoided a string of pedestrians, shocked gasps and screams erupting as they jumped from the two reckless motorcycle riders.

“Some back-up would be nice!”

“They’re blocking the road off as we speak,” Pidge informed, and he could hear rapid clacking on a laptop.

“Allura paged through and ordered a squad – Lance, he’s turning right!”

Right meant another intersection, and he could see the Galra reaching behind, grasping the handle of a Glock. Lance swore and avoided a well-aimed bullet, feeling it whiz past his right arm.

“He’s armed!”

“Of course, he is” Hunk moaned.

Lance ran a red light and noted the irony. The law enforcer breaks the enforced law, all for chasing down a lone Vampire with shitty fashion sense.

The Galra showed no sign of slowing down, zipping and freighting with terrifying ease, avoiding the traffic with a singular focus.

“Pidge, do you have an ETA?” Lance demanded.

She made a sound of confirmation. “You’re three metres away from the intersection, and the light's turning red. He has to stop—“

“Unless he wants to turn into a flat pancake,” Lance deduced. “Got it.”

He weaved through a mass of cars, a white sedan losing its control and nearly skidding into him, but Lance pulled back fast. He was approaching the busy intersection, tall traffic lights looming in the distance like a formidable sentry. Galra dude was in the zone, deviating well and squeezing through a tiny crack between two lorries. Lance followed and almost ripped his leg from a truck tire, cursing loudly. A slight shift to the right, a turn into a left, a huge van that nearly sent him skidding onto the road – Lance remained focus. He saw nothing in sight besides that black ponytail, the first wave of traffic abruptly dissolved behind him.

The impending current swelled on his right, vehicles streaming as the traffic light turned green, no one able to stop as two motorcycles burst from the opposite end, threading through the approaching metal mass. Horns and loud screeching ( _“What the fuck are you doing, man?!”_ ) as he curved through the oncoming cars. The Vampire was trying to lose him in the opposite traffic and Lance wasn’t having it.

He needed this promotion.

Following behind, he heard the man curse.

“What the—“

“ _Stop! FBI!_ ”

The Galra glanced back, and his grey-violet eyes were such a shade of defiance that it burned itself in Lance’s mind. He swerved and to Lance’s consternation, twisted his bike around to run on the sidewalks, slamming past a café, it’s patrons screaming in fear and panic. Chairs and tables were now obstacles as he deftly avoided them, throwing his weight around with back-breaking swiftness that mirrored the Galra.

Lance tailed behind him, shouting apologies as he revved the engine, blue eyes narrowed.

He turned into a park and the agent panicked. Parks would mean children, and he was sure that the vile bastard was going to slam into a bunch of kids to throw him off. The Galra swerved right to his immense surprise, ploughing through a low hedge, angling towards the center of the park, a marble fountain coming in view.

Families who were enjoying a night stroll screamed in curdling fear, dispersing as the circle of stalls around the fountain acted as a barricade against the Vampire’s escape. Lance was sure that he would attempt to rush through the fountain as he noticed a low ramp in the marble side and he prepared to follow, revving.

He was catching on quick, the red jacket close enough for him to grasp with his left hand. Lance stretched his arm out, the other grasping the gun and balancing his body. His fingers barely brushed the red material when the Galra spun his motorcycle in a 180 degrees’ curve and jetted past the circle of stalls. Lance threw his body weight to the left, veering close to the water’s edge when a low rock threw him off balance.

One second he was hot in pursuit, and the next, his motorcycle was in the air and he was free-falling, slamming into the hard surface, icy water flooding his nostrils. Lance opened his eyes to dark wetness, panicking and emerging from the deep fountain, gasping. His bike had landed on the ground, wheels still spinning. He gasped and gripped the edge, removing his helmet in time to see the Vampire disappearing into a near street, merging with the traffic, leaving a trail of smoke.

Lance groaned and let his head rest on the cold marble, dipping back into the fountain to retrieve his gun. When he emerged for the second time, Allura’s brilliant blue eyes shocked him back to reality and he screeched. The sight of his supervisor staggered his balance and he nearly went splashing back into the fountain’s depths.

“McClain, where did he go?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Lance gave a weak smile. Allura may be a head shorter than him, but her fierce glare could bring an empire down to its knees.

“Uh…I lost him. Sorry.”

Allura pursed her lips. “We have no idea where he is heading since we lost your GPS tracks.”

“He led me into the park!” he argued and struggled to get up. A huge brown hand lifted him up from him shoulder and dragged him from the fountain onto the damp dirt.

“Where do you think he went?” Hunk asked, nervously looking from his superior to his best friend.

“I don’t know,” Lance admitted, shaking water droplets from his long sleeve shirt. “I lost control over my bike and it seemed like he knew that I would fall.”

Allura stiffened, and Lance had never seen her this angry. Her rich cashmere coat hung over her hunched shoulders and she sighed.

“We were so close,” she growled and pinched her nose. “Agent, pick up your bike and go home. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning for a briefing.”

She said no more, stalking to her Mercedes parked a few meters away on an adjacent road, getting in and driving off, oblivious to the scene she left behind.

Hunk and Lance shared a look.

“We almost had him, man,” his best friend said, in a way of encouragement.

Lance sighed and peeled his sodden vest off his tall frame. “Almost doesn’t cut it, buddy.”

“Allura can’t blame you,” he reassured and offered him a smile. “You gave him one hell of a chase, Lancey.”

He chuckled at his given nickname and allowed his friend to pick him from the ground. His bike sputtered and went quiet, switching off from the lack of control, its wheels creaking to a stop.

Lance groaned and straightened his back. “I could use some food about now.”

“I’ll have something prepared,” Hunk said as he helped him muscle his bike back to the ground. Lance patted the dashboard fondly, noting with silent dismay the chipped paint.

“Okay. I’ll drop by.”

Hunk rolled his eyes, and though he was wider than Lance, he knew his best friend was too gentle to deck him.

“We live in the same house, dummy.”

“That’s why I said I’ll drop by,” he confirmed, much to Hunk’s dismay.

“Where are you heading to?”

He chuckled, patting his friend’s big shoulder. “I have a date.”

“You do? Now?”

“Yeah,” Lance confirmed, sitting back on his bike and starting it back to life. “What? Hard to believe a handsome man like me has something to do tonight?”

His best friend guffawed. “Are you sure you want to go looking like that?”

Water dripped from head to toe, clothes sticking to his brown skin, bangs plastered to his forehead. A crowd was slowly forming around them, as people emerged from their hiding places, staring at the pair.

“I have to go. Calm the civilians for me?” Lance employed his best pout and Hunk succumbed to it, sighing.

“Okay, okay everybody! Back up, we’ve got it under wraps…”

He revved the bike to drive and extracted himself from this mess. His damp skin erupted in goose bumps as the sharp wind clawed through his soaked clothes, settling around his body like a cold veneer. Lance drove up to a McDonald’s, utilizing his extensive knowledge on fast food chains to remember which one had a café. He stopped and bought a cup of coffee and two doughnuts, settling it between his thighs and dashboard, pulling back into traffic with a swift urgency.

Hunk was right, and it was late.

Lance sped up, careful to keep it under a speed where he wouldn’t get stopped. It would be a cruel twist of irony if he was pulled over by a cop and forced to pay a fee for his recklessness.

The light blue building emerged in the distance and revved the engine, speeding past streetlamps and trees as he stopped in front of a barricade.

“Lance, my boy!” a toothy security guard by the name of Mr. Rodriguez chimed as he stopped him from entering the building.

“Señor Rodriguez,” he said, grinning. “I brought you some food.” He handed the still warm paper bag to the old man and he beamed a gummy smile.

“Lance, you didn’t have to,” he said, grasping the package close to his chest.

“You’re my favorite security guard in the whole world. Of course, I would,” Lance said. It was true; only Señor Rodriguez allowed him into the building after visiting hours, the others not swayed by his charms or edible bribery.

“Tell him I said ‘hi’,” the old guard chuckled as he lifted the barricade. Lance gave him a sharp salute and entered, steering his bike into the parking lot. He disembarked and left his helmet on the seat, fixing the com in his ear. It was a good thing Pidge had made the thing water-proof; he did not need a fried brain on top of the crushing disappointment in letting a Galra Vampire walk free tonight.

His steps echoed on the marble floor, the receptionist barely looking up as he sauntered past her, heading for the elevator. He pressed a button he knew by heart. The elevator doors opened, a bronze plate reading ‘Oncology Treatment’ dull under the orange lighting.

He reached the visitor desk, a small woman hunched over it straightening when he entered.

“If it isn’t Lance,” she wondered and set her pen down, corners of her mouth crinkling into a smile.

“Nurse Andrea,” he said and gave a theatrical bow. “How I missed your beautiful face.”

She lifted a brow, though her thin lips pressed together from laughing told him otherwise.

He flourished her the cup of coffee along with the other doughnut, setting it on her desk.

“Visiting hours have ended,” she said, gaze flickering from him to the crumpled piece of paper plastered on the cheap wooden surface.

‘ _Visitors are not allowed in rooms after 6 p.m._ ’ it screamed in bold red.

“One last time,” he promised, like so many times before. “I have to see him before tomorrow. I have a full day and won’t be around for him. He’s going in for chemo, am I right?”

She sighed. “Lance, this is serious business. It’s not like when we went through the operations. He needs his rest.”

“Andrea, please,” he said, blue eyes wide. “He called me this morning and I meant to visit him but work caught up with me,” Lance uttered, thinking back to the chase that was a complete waste of his time. “Just this once,  _por favor. Solo esta vez._ ”

The nurse sighed and waved him through. “This is the last time, Lance,” she warned, “I’ll give you ten minutes and then you let the poor boy rest.” Her gaze softened at his contrite smile and sheepish nod.

Lance stalked down the familiar hallway, stopping in front of a room with the number ‘221 A’ written on a display, along with the patience’s name: Tomas McClain

He knocked on the door and a slurred, “It’s open,” greeted him. He pushed back the door and a rush of thin arms and brown skin barreled into his chest, yelling happily.

“Lance!” Tomas cried, burying his face in his brother’s shirt. “You came!”

“Sorry, I was late, Champ,” he murmured, hugging his brother back. Tomas’ shoulder jutted under his chin, his brother’s painfully thin frame frail in his embrace. A pang of sorrow clenched his heart and rendered him mute.

“Mama told me you were coming,” he said, and let his older brother go. His blue eyes, so like Lance’s, shone with unconcealed happiness. Lance composed himself; Tomas needed his support, not his anxiety. It was imperative to his brother’s health that they didn’t put him through stress, and so he composed his smile, injecting warmth into his eyes.

“I will always come, Tomas,” Lance said, pulling his brother close. Although Tomas was a head shorter than him, his brother had a frailty that belied his age, making him look almost prepubescent and starved.

He grinned widely, not willing to let Tomas see his sadness. “How’s my Champ doing today?”

“Better,” he hummed. “The doctors were doing a final check on me before tomorrow.”

“Right. The chemo.”

“Yeah,” he said with a rushed sigh. His drawn and pale face incited worry, and Lance reminded himself that Tomas wasn’t supposed to be on his feet for long. “Here, let’s get you back in bed.”

He nodded, allowing his older brother to urge him back onto the firm mattress.

“Why are your clothes wet?” Tomas asked, confused. Lance chuckled at his brother’s careful observation.

“Long story,  _hermano_.”

Tomas’ eyes grew wide. “Was it cool police stuff?” he pronounced ‘police stuff’ with a reverence he only gave video games. It was no secret that entering the Academy was notoriously hard, and for Lance to breeze through the entrance exams and steadily climb his way to the top served as a proud emblem for the McClain family.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I was chasing down one of the Galra.”

Tomas choked on his excitement. “What did he look like? How were you chasing him? Did you manage to catch him? Are you finally going to bust this stupid organization?”

“Slow down  _chiquito,_  I’m getting on it,” he said with a chuckle, patting his brother’s shoulder. Lance divulged the story to him, retelling the chase, the guns, the constant swerving, the charging into opposing traffic and the eventual fall in the fountain; a chase to end all chases in his short career. Tomas laughed, his young face smoothed from any worries as Lance entertained his mind off the inevitable tomorrow. Eventually, his little brother yawned, eyes hooded with fatigue.

He glanced down at his phone clock and saw that it was almost eleven, way more than the ten minutes Andrea gave him.

“Are you tired,  _chiquito_?”

“A bit” he said through a yawn. His eyes cracked open at mental reminder. “Did you ask Mama about my motorcycle lessons?”

Lance cringed, not wanting to get into this with his brother. “I…I tried, Tomas. Mama said that it would be best to hear what the doctor said. After your chemo, I’ll ask her again.”

His small shoulders slumped forward, and Lance rested a hand on his face and meeting his defeated blue eyes.

“You will learn soon,  _chiquito,_ ” he murmured, smiling. “You are strong and Mama knows that; she wants you to get stronger first.”

Tomas huffed and nodded, a small smile worming on his face at Lance’s bright grin. “I just want to look as cool as you do.”

“And you will, Tomas,” Lance promised, placing a small kiss on his brother’s head. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow.”

Tomas was already fourteen, but he wasn’t yet in his rebellious stage where he rejected any form of affection from his family, his bright smile withering away the harsh reality of his condition. If anything, he seemed to crave it now, ever since they discovered the tumor in his stomach three months ago.

“Bye, Lance. See you tomorrow,” he said, and Lance smoothed his hair, switching off the hospital light.

“Goodnight,  _chiquito,_ ” Lance murmured, pulling the door behind him, but not before he heard a breathy, “ _Buenas noches_ _,_ ” exhaled from Tomas’ lips as his brother fell asleep, out like a light even before the door clicked shut behind Lance .

He walked down the hallway, lump in his throat and holding back tears. Andrea looked up from the book she was reading and offered him a thin smile.

“Thank you,” Lance said and the nurse nodded, compassion and sympathy in her gaze.

Lance blinked the moisture out of his eyes, walking quietly to his motorcycle and starting it, trailing past the barricades with a half-hearted wave at Señor Rodriguez. The ride back home was lonely and cold, his shared apartment with Hunk quiet as he figured his best friend was probably in bed. Lance sighed, comfortable enough in the solitude to remove his shirt and throw it into the nearest laundry hamper 

He removed his gun belt and stretched, feeling the muscles popped. The scent of chicken greeted his nostrils and Lance wandered into the kitchen, pleasantly surprised to find his favorite Cuban sandwich waiting for him. Hunk made good on his promise and Lance loved him even more for that. He wolfed it down and washed the plate, eyes already heavy from today’s events. Not even walking straight, he set his alarm for tomorrow, removed his sodden jeans and changed into his sweatpants.

Lance was out before his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp. looks like i'm too deep in this fandom. if any of you are further interested in this AU, i'll link a playlist for songs that helped me write - if you're into that.
> 
> also find me on my tumblr @ teeceeceecee !

**Author's Note:**

> welp. looks like i'm too deep in this fandom. if any of you are further interested in this AU, i'll link a playlist for songs that helped me write - if you're into that.
> 
> find me on tumblr @ teeceeceecee !


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